First Comes Agony
by Hit Of The Glow
Summary: After the opera, Shiloh is quickly forced to come to terms with the fallacy she was tricked into believing was her life. When she spirals out of control, Graverobber is there to cushion her fall- but not everything is as it seems.
1. Chapter 1

The young girl ran through the empty streets with vague hysteria in her eyes. Her breathing was labored, her tiny chest heaving with grief-stricken sobs. Her long black wig was off-center, weighed down by the ruby red blood that coated her petite frame. The hollow sound of her boot-clad feet hitting the ground echoed off the grimy walls of the dark back-allies. Her sense of direction was long forgotten as she tore through the midnight streets of Sanitarium Isle, forcing herself to keep moving, hoping, praying to the gods above that she could crawl into her wonderfully shrouded plastic cocoon of a bed, and wake up to her gloriously oblivious now former life. She didn't suppose GeneCo had a SurGEN that could fulfill a request among those lines; Although, she would happily indebt herself to the corrupt corporate giant that advocated mass-murder in the form of organ repossessions, if only they could grant that desperate plea. Mentally, the recently orphaned girl cursed the company that had not only brung the entire population to its knees and shackled them all to a life of fear, but also banished her to a life of hardships and lonliness without anything more to her name than a mind full of questions.

Without warning, the girl was plunging towards the blacktop, a Z-ed out addict having been the cause of her sudden fall. The deathly white child landed face down on the wet cement, her blood crusted wig fanned out beside her haphazardly. She groaned and picked it up shakily, while rolling onto her back and pushing herself up on her elbows to inspect the damage from the fall. A rip in the bottom of her tight black dress and scraped knees appeared to be her only visible battle scars, although from the warm liquid she felt making its way slowly down her chin, her lip was undoubtedly busted. She tentatively touched her thin fingers to her mouth, and yelped as a white hot pain shot its way across her mouth.

Instinctively, the child drew her legs up to her chest, burrying her head in the bunched up fabric of her ruined dress while clutching that damned wig with a desperate fervor, and abruptly began sobbing with a strength that seemed incapable of the pixie like girl, her shoulders shaking with the force of her trembling body. She threw herself back onto the pavement, putting her small hands over her eyes, mentally giving up.

As her sobbing subsided, laughter took its place, and then slowly, the eyes of the broken girl lying in the middle of a damp, dirty back-alley began to slip shut in a last-ditch effort to sleep. I really am fucked, she thought to herself. Her hysterical giggles quieted, and she could hear footsteps approaching her, but she no longer cared. She could feel sleep began to tug at her conciousness, and she welcomed it with open arms.

A cold foot poked gingerly at her ribs, accompanied by a deep, familiar drawl. "Kid, is that you?"


	2. Chapter 2

Graverobber wandered through the street aimlessly, mind reeling from the opera. Three were selfishly killed onstage, causing the life of a young girl to be ruined all in a matter of mere minutes. Graverobber had never had a particular problem with death- seeing as he was a peddler of Zydrate, a drug that began brewing in the brain of a corpse just minutes after the deceased found their final resting place, he was actually quite comforted by the thought of the natural life and death cycle of the human body- yet the events of this night chilled Graverobber down to his cold, sore bones. The large man also never felt sympathy for another human being the way he felt for Shiloh- the kid he had met in the graveyard.

Footstep after footstep, Graverobber was unaware of where he was going. Nowhere, he supposed. He had no place to call home; he simply lived a semi-nomadic, nocturnal lifestyle- sleeping in a dumpster during the day, peddling Z by night. He enjoyed this lifestyle, albeit he often did wish for a companion. He had always considered getting a pet- maybe a nice mutt, fierce, but affectionate. Yes, a dog would do just fine.

The streets of Sanitarium Isle made up a complex labyrinth, filled with nothing but scum of the Earth. Sometimes, a clean, well dressed person would appear, curious about life behind the scenes of the corrupt society in which they were forced to be a part of. Graverobber treated them well, you see- first hit was always free. That person would appear back a few nights later, eyes filled with shame, mortification, but nevertheless with payment in hand- and then they were hooked. They'd show up more grungy- clothes askew, a dark five o'clock shadow here, oily hair and blood-shot eyes there- more strung out every time, until eventually they were crawling on their knees, hands as empty as their promises to pay their newly found god back next time. And then there were the few that tried to be cute- shaky hands slithering into the pocket of Graverobber's bear of a coat, fingers desperately searching for the a fix. He knew exactly how to deal with these people- a dose too much of the Z here, a vial laced with some untraceable poison there- Graverobber didn't put up with anybody's shit, and he wasn't shy about it, which is what placed him solely at very the top of the game, a place he proudly deemed his own.

Graverobber could hear footsteps approaching him from the rear, heavy breathing echoing off the wall. Instinctually, and as smoothly as possible, the large man ducked behind a dumpster, wedging himself between crates, body hidden from plain view. Footsteps and heavy breathing turned into a body hitting the ground and sobbing. Graverobber smirked- must be a new addict, frantically searching for just _one _more hit. Adorning a sinister grin, he dislodged himself from his hiding spot, pulling out his Zydrate gun with that infamous little glass vial, full to the brim with an intoxicating blue liquid.

He sauntered over to the body on the ground, watching it as it relaxed itself on the pavement, eyelids closing over shaded eyes. Graverobber noted that it was a girl, by the way her petite body was curved, her dirty, torn dress clinging to her in a way that caused Graverobber's trousers to grow more tight the closer he was to her. Reddish-brown crust covered her shoulders and arms, the once smooth red liquid now dried into flakes. Her head was bald, a long, black wig in her hand. Makeup was smeared across her pale skin, reminding Graverobber of the beginning strokes of a sad, lonely portrait.

As the Zydrate peddler approached the girl, he gasped- the Zydrate gun almost falling out of his hand. He barely caught it, the trigger catching on his fingertips.

"Kid, is that you?"


	3. Chapter 3

The kid opened her eyes to the man standing above her- his face pale, his lips black as sin, hair matted and multi-coloured; he held a gun with a glowing blue vial perched precariously on his fingertips, the drug as bright as his eyes. "Shilo," she whispered, voice hoarse. "My name is Shilo."

Graverobber kneeled down unsurely. "Of course it is, kid." Shilo didn't bother with responding, her red, swollen eyes staring off into the deep abyss of space. A whimper escaped from her lips. "Don't do that, kid," Graverobber muttered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

She was on her feet almost as fast as her eyes opened. "Who the hell are you to tell me what and what not to do," she began, voice dripping with acid. "Do you even know what I've had to go through tonight? Those fucking assholes took away everyone who was anyone to me, and now I'm alone, cold, covered in blood, and lost. I probably have a warrant out for me, three crazy, blood hungry bastards just _dying_ to get their hands on me," she yelled, eyes suddenly blazing. Shiloh shook with anger, wig clutched in a white knuckled grip.

Oddly, the anger of the young girl in front of him melted the ice around his heart just a little, cracking his hardass facade. "Uh, look," he reached for her wig, placing it on her head, "I can take you home-"

"Oh, of course you can!" Her screech interrupted him. "But I guess you weren't fucking listening, huh? I CAN'T GO HOME. That's the first place they'll look for me, and if I went back it'd be like signing my own death certificate! No, I can't go back there," her voice began to loose it's hardness, cracking with an oncoming sob, as she began to once again return to a defeated position. Her sad eyes found the ground, searching as if for an answer that she'd never come upon. Graverobber watched her, concentrating hard on biting his tongue, keeping the words that were about to come out of his mouth behind the shelter of his closed lips, knowing that they would lead to no good. It was a fight that he quickly lost.

"Don't take this as me feeling obligated to help you because I care or any damn thing like that, but if you need a place to stay I can find you one. Just to lay low, let the all the hype die down," Graverobber mumbled, crossing his arms. "I know you aren't accustomed to the idea of the world outside your window," he added lowly while rolling his eyes.

Shilo straightened up a little, smoothing out her dress. "Yeah, okay. I just need to get clean," she looked down at the blood covering her. Tears ran down her dirty cheeks, leaving trails in the grime.

Graverobber nudged Shilo's shoulder with his own and began walking. She followed him without question, body and mind too numb to function properly. As they walked, Graverobber whistled animatedly, drumming his fingers against his leg. The streets twisted and turned into an endless labyrinth. Shilo had no idea where the two were heading; all that she knew was that she was following a large man that made his living by plunging needles up corpe's nasal cavities, straight into the brain. Normally, that would trigger her fight or flight instinct, but considering the circumstances, she didn't care what happened. She didn't care if he slit her throat and harvested her for Zydrate- she just wanted it all to stop. She wanted her father back, no matter how much of a monster he was. She wanted to have known Mag, to have been able to had a chance at a normal life. But nothing about Shilo was normal, and she was now realizing that it never would be.

The pair arrived at a shabby building- paint peeling off the walls in long strips, windows busted out, plastic sheets taking their places. It seemed to Shilo that they were in the middle of nowhere, yet her whole world was revolving around this one secluded area. To Shilo, the world was off of it's axis- the only center was wherever she was, and it moved along with her.

"My temporary abode," Graverobber mumbled as he unlocked the door. He pushed it open, revealing to Shiloh a surprisingly tidy- albeit empty- livingroom. Shilo took a step in the door, with Graverobber close on her heels. The long room consisted of a black futon, with a tattered throw blanket over the back. A pair of black jeans sat folded on the brown carpeted floor beside it. Three doors branched off the livingroom. "Bathroom is there," he pointed to the door behind the futon, while he shut the door behind them. "You're going to need something to wear, I guess." Graverobber walked into the room to his left, and Shilo followed him. It was a bedroom- there was a mostly clean mattress on the floor with a black comforter and a few pillows. A few folded shirts and pants were lying around. Graverobber picked up an oversized black t-shirt off the top of a stack, and handed it to Shiloh. "I don't have any pants that would fit you, but this should be long enough. We can wash your clothes later. I'm going to be in here," he sat down on the mattress and began unlacing his boots. "Make yourself at home." He slid his shoes off with a contented groan, and then pulled a cigarette and a lighter out of his coat pocket. "Thanks," Shilo mumbled as she ducked her head, and made her way to the bathroom.

Shilo entered the tiny room, which simply contained a clean white toilet, white sink with a decent amount of counter space, and a shower without a curtain. Shilo stripped her clothes and wig off, discovering that her undergarments were also soaked through with blood. Walking over to the sink, she turned on the water and plugged the drain, filling it up where she could wash her blood-soaked wig. She looked into the mirror, examining herself. Her bald head shone in the dim light, pale and smooth. Her blood and makeup covered white skin was flushed, her chocolate brown eyes swollen. As her fingers massaged her wig in the warm water, scrubbing off the crusted blood, her mind wandered back to the opera. Mag, ripping her eyes from her skull, where she was then promptly cut from her harness and impaled on a stage prop; Her father, taking his last breath while he was in her arms, never even getting to explain his secret life to Shilo. She didn't know what she was going to do. She was overcome with so many emotions all at once, her mind reeling. Just then, her wristcom began beeping, screeching out a warning that Shilo needed her blood pressure medication. Shilo didn't hear it, ignoring the world around her as she stared down at the wig in her hands, her entire body shaking. Black spots began fluttering around in front of her eyes, blurring her vision. She opened her mouth to scream out, but her entire world dimmed and she hit the ground, her head bouncing off the tile floor before she could get the first syllable off of her lips.


End file.
